


Only Fools Rush In

by coloursflyaway



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, Implied Cannibalism, Implied Violence, M/M, Post-Canon, Running Away, Slow Dancing, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 19:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4800086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloursflyaway/pseuds/coloursflyaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal has swept Will away to Argentina, where slow dancing and violence await them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Fools Rush In

The tune changes and Will hardly notices at first; he hasn’t listened to anything but Hannibal’s breath for what feels like an eternity. It’s something that seemingly defined their relationship right from the start, they are timeless, rush through days which feel like moments, only to stretch second to years, to decades, to centuries.

What had been a passionate crescendo of a song, whose name Hannibal had whispered into his ear before, fades, instrument after instrument holding its breath until there’s only the piano playing, soft, sweet notes which even Will knows.  
It’s like a spell, and within a moment, the atmosphere has changed, the Argentinian heat mellowed. The laughter and chatter around them dies as the drummer starts to gently tap away the beat, the singer starts to croon into the microphone.

His voice is not right, too thin and far too high, but Will ignores it, because Hannibal pulls him closer, change their position from a classical dancing stance to something more relaxed, their joined hands dropping lower, their fingers intertwining.  
It’s been two years and yet, sometimes Will finds himself surprised by how well they fit together, that they can touch each other like this, without inflicting pain.

“… _but I can't help falling in love with you_ ”, the singer almost murmurs, and Hannibal spins them gracefully, Will’s feet by now having no problems with keeping up. After all, it feels like they have been dancing for years and years, at first around each other, until nature’s forces brought them together.  
Silk and linen whisper across Will’s cheek, the one on which the Red Dragon left his mark, when Hannibal leans in closer, his breath ghosting over the side of Will’s neck, his lips leaving a fleeting kiss just below his jaw. It’s hardly even that, just a brush of skin against skin, but it feels scorching hot, as if it was going to leave a mark.

He has to shift as not to disrupt their rhythm with the next step he takes, leaving him pressed up against the older man, swaying to a song Will’s father used to play when he brought home a new girlfriend.  
“ _Shall I stay, would it be a sin?“,_ Will mouths silently with the singer, fitting his lips around the words, tasting them on his tongue. They’re bittersweet, leave him longing, and Will wonders if Hannibal can feel them against neck, written on his skin with his breath and unclear intentions.

They spin again, the hem of some woman’s dress catching on Will’s leg, and suddenly, his head feels too heavy to hold it up himself. He lets it drop to Hannibal’s shoulder, turns it so he can pretend he can make out the older man’s pulse under the dim light, blood pumping under the tanned skin in a steady flow.  
Will can almost taste it when he pushes his tongue up against his gums, remembering the way his teeth sunk into Hannibal’s flesh the night before, how they pierced skin and sent blood gushing into his mouth, coating Will’s lips and chin. Hannibal had only bucked his hips, driven his cock so deep into Will he had thought it would split him apart.  
Even now, there’s still violent, still manipulating, still testing out limits, but it’s not only that anymore.

When Will had dived into Garret Jacob Hobbs’ head, he had brought back something dark and dangerous, when he had finally allowed himself to become Hannibal, what he had found was a new kind of tenderness, an almost-sweetness so gentle it hurt more than knives and butcher’s saws and the barely there kiss Hannibal had just whispered against his skin.

“ _Like a river flows surely to the sea_ ”, Will’s lips move without him giving them permission to do so, and this time, he knows it, Hannibal has to be able to feel them, his mouth is too close to the other man’s neck to allow anything else.  
He knows there must have been a time when he would have felt embarrassed, but he can hardly even remember it. There is room between them for a lot of things nowadays, but shame is none of them.  
“ _Darling so it goes, some things are meant to be_ ”, he continues, still soundlessly, not because he can’t bring himself to speak the words out-loud, but because he isn’t sure he wants to. They aren’t the right ones, just like no combination of words in any of the languages Will knows by now seems to even remotely cover what he wants to say, are always either far too much or far too little.

“ _Take my hand, take my whole life too”_ , the singer croons and Will soundlessly fits his lips around the sounds, makes them his; Hannibal curls the fingers he has on Will’s waist. They should be claws, Will thinks, and knows that this moment will be paid for with blood, with violence.  
He melts against Hannibal’s form, lets the older man guide him, spin them around one more time, their bodies moving together as if they had never done anything else.  
“ _F_ _or I can't help falling in love with you_ …“

Again, the tune starts to change – too early, Will’s brain butts in, far too early – the gentle melody tapering out to make way for another song Will doesn’t recognise, faster, almost cheerful.  
Hannibal pulls him even closer, grips him tighter, and Will’s lips touch a sharp jaw, the soft expanse of skin just beneath it, and then the other whispers, “Let us call it a night.”

It could sound so innocent, like a question that would lead to hours spent wrapped in blankets and each other’s heat, but Will hears the sharpness hidden beneath the other’s soft voice, the hint of ice, of death. He shivers, but his neurons are firing twice as often as before, his blood is flowing faster; his body is readying itself for a fight, for a chase.  
“Brilliant idea”, he mutters back, and Hannibal smiles, a dangerous curl of lips which slices right through Will, makes him bleed.

They stop moving, Hannibal steps back to press a kiss to Will’s knuckles, which are still bruised from the last time they went out to hunt, a flicker of Hannibal’s tongue tells him that the other man remembers it just as vividly.  
Will watches him straighten again, eventually let go of his hand to turn around, knowing that Will will follow once he starts walking.

For a second, Will sees dark antlers parting Hannibal’s slicked back hair, rising tall and proud, then he follows, doesn’t reach up to feel for the matching pair protruding from his skull.  
He knows they’re there.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you want to say hi, send me a prompt, or tell me something nice, you can find me on Tumblr here:  
> [X](http://www.coloursflyaway.tumblr.com)


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